


Ineffable Bingo Fills

by Lurlur



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bingo, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Ineffable Bingo Fills, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Just a little thing with some friendies. Gonna keep my bingo fills here as we go.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 111
Kudos: 82





	1. I Couldn't Sleep Anyway

It’s very late when Aziraphale is woken by the thrashing next to him. A sharp heel catches him in the shin and an elbow jabs his stomach.

“Bastards!” Crowley cries out, anguished.

He’s alert in a heartbeat, attuned to Crowley’s distress. Arms wrap around Crowley’s shoulders, drawing him against Aziraphale’s warm chest.

“I’m here, we’re safe,” Aziraphale mutters into Crowley’s sweat-damp hair.

Consciousness blooms slowly and Crowley calms, finally turning to face Aziraphale with sleepy, worried eyes.

“The fire,” Crowley says, weakly.

“I know, love.” Aziraphale kisses him softly.

“Would you read to me?”

“Of course, I couldn’t sleep anyway.”


	2. Shoulder Kiss

He's been sitting behind Aziraphale for the better part of an hour. His lap is warm with the weight of Aziraphale's wings. 

Grooming is safe. It's a touch he's allowed, a distance and a vulnerability all at once. It's nearly done, though, soon Aziraphale will be out of reach once more.

Gripped by a temporary madness, Crowley leans forward and kisses Aziraphale's bare shoulder. 

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale breathes, turning his head to face Crowley's guilt. 

He wants to apologise for his transgression but Aziraphale's eyes are hopeful and he lets the madness take him once more.

Aziraphale's lips are divine.


	3. I- I couldn't find you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a poll of 1, 100% of respondents said that wanted me to do art for this fill, so... yeah. Here's some Spud Omens art for you.


	4. Books

“More than anything!” Aziraphale insists.  
Despite himself, Crowley almost drops the fight in favour of endearments and cuddling. He steels himself.  
“Not more than-” he jerks his chin towards the ceiling and he doesn’t mean the crown moulding.  
“More than Her.” Aziraphale is defiant.  
They hold for the lightning bolt that doesn’t come.   
“Not more than your books,” Crowley spits.  
“I’d burn this place to ash for you,” Aziraphale gestures to his bookshop.  
Strong arms are around Crowley before he’s even aware of having reacted.  
“Thought I’d lost you,” he chokes on remembered smoke.  
“Never.” It sounds like a promise.


	5. Hands

Fretful, constant, twisting. Crowley’s watching from the corner of his eye as Aziraphale’s hands wring and worry at each other. It’s been hours and he won’t mention what’s bothering him. Crowley knows better than to ask, but the fidgeting irritates. He wants it over with.  
Aziraphale’s mouth opens and Crowley turns, giving his full attention. It’s too much, Aziraphale shrinks back from the unexpected intensity.  
Crowley forces himself to relax, to reach over and, ever-so-gently, take Aziraphale’s hands in his. He strokes his thumbs across warm knuckles, stilling the incessant movements.  
“Talk to me,” Crowley says, and he means it.


	6. I thought I'd lost you

Reaching for Crowley’s hand is the most natural thing in the world. Breaking down all the walls he’s built around himself, Aziraphale wants to show Crowley that he knows where he belongs. He glances at Crowley and sees the surprise dissolve into pleasure just as slender fingers give a light squeeze.

“I thought I’d lost you, you know?” Aziraphale says, staring into his lap. “Thought you’d have run off to the stars without me.”

Crowley squeezes his hand once more, a reassuring and grounding pressure.

“There’s nowhere to run to without you,” Crowley says, lifting Aziraphale’s knuckles to his lips.


	7. It Reminded Me Of You

He's striding over rubble, rubble that was recently a church, with the confidence of someone who invented the casual saunter, when Crowley sees the hat. It's cream, modern, stylish even, with a golden-yellow band. He picks it up, turns it over in his hands.

"Oh!" Aziraphale calls, catching up with him. "That's mine."

Gentle hands lift it out of Crowley's grasp.

"S'not your usual style, angel," Crowley says, staring at the all-too-familiar colour of the ribbon.

Aziraphale runs a finger along the band, momentarily thoughtful.

"Perhaps not." He looks up into Crowley's eyes. "I suppose it reminded me of you."


	8. We'll Figure It Out

His breath stills, waiting and wanting. The first touch of another’s lips, soft, warm, welcome. Overwhelmed with tenderness, Crowley melts into Aziraphale, parting his lips in silent invitation.

A moment of hesitation then Aziraphale’s tongue seeks the refuge of Crowley.

Burning, scalding, acid, flames, and raw nerves. Crowley yelps, scrambling back with hands clamped over his wounded mouth.

“Oh, my darling,” Aziraphale cries, wringing his hands. “I _hurt_ you!”

Crowley tries not to cry at the cruelty of their creator.

“I can still love you,” Aziraphale rallies, pulling Crowley to him. “We’ll figure it out.”

Crowley tries to believe him.


	9. Sick

Crowley is pacing, throwing his hands up in anger and snarling. Aziraphale shrinks into his chair, knowing he’s the cause.

“I am SICK of this, Aziraphale!” Crowley yells at last, whirling to face him. “You push and you push, Satan _knows_ I’ve been patient but this really has to stop!”

“I’m _sorry!_ ” Aziraphale sounds reedy even to himself.

Crowley stops in his tracks, moving only to slide his glasses down his nose.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Crowley.” And he is, he truly is.

Crowley’s kneeling beside him in an instant, looking into his face.

“That’s all I needed to hear, angel.”


	10. Kissing Scars

Aziraphale’s fingers drag through Crowley’s hair, gathering it only to drop and dive back in. Crowley hums happily, boneless under the hypnosis of Aziraphale’s touch. Crowley’s trust and vulnerability could make Aziraphale weep but he’s focused on radiating comfort.

His fingertip catches an irregularity. Again. Aziraphale parts Crowley’s hair to find the cause.

A wide, curving scar marks Crowley’s scalp behind his crown.

“What’s this?” Aziraphale asks softly.

“Hmm?” Crowley reaches back. “Oh, s’just where my halo was, before I Fell.”

Aziraphale hears the tremble under the indifferent veneer. He dips his head and presses his lips to the scar.


	11. I'm Sorry For Your Loss

Idiot.

Fool.

Emotional simpleton.

I could say that I misunderstood,

I might tell you that I was in shock, 

But I'm trying not to lie to you,

Lord knows I haven't been good at that.

I could see your grief, 

And in that moment, 

I couldn't believe it was for me.

How could it have been?

After all that I said?

And yet, 

Who else?

Who else would cause you to grieve like that?

I knew, of course I knew,

Just as I know, 

What I was, 

What I am,

What I have always been, 

A coward, yes, 

And yours.


	12. Ink

Words are your arena, not mine.

Yet I can think of no better way

To show you my heart.

I would tear it out and offer it to you,

Use my vile blood as ink,

For a thousand love letters,

But you wouldn't care for that.

I would needle your name into my skin,

A million punctures of love,

Leaving your mark,

Let my outside reflect what has long been inside.

Your name is my breath,

My bones,

My atoms,

I resonate at a frequency of you,

But I can't show you these things,

So I'll show you with ink.


End file.
